


Paradox

by BlueVisions



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Heartbreak, Slightly straining the laws of syntax and punctuation, Stream of Consciousness-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueVisions/pseuds/BlueVisions
Summary: Chloe and Lucifer. It's always easier to focus on the why-nots.





	Paradox

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, hello, I'm not sure why I did this.  
> I meant to write a light, fluffy and shamelessly self-indulgent Deckerstar story - instead, this happened.
> 
> Still, I would love to know what you think and if, maybe, some of you actually managed to enjoy this.

Slow, steady, and slower yet, until everything falls into its place.

Reality unfurls around her, a complex texture of facts. Reliable. It has rules and boundaries – she knows how to move within them. Confident. Almost certain.

Her feet are firmly on the ground. Each step is a plan, a purpose – there is one right path. Gradually, she works her way forward, one deliberation after the other.

_Focus_. But his name spins through her mind like wildfire, burning reason to ashes. Volatile. Dangerous. Yet her skin prickles when she thinks of him and she wonders what it would be like to run with the feeling. She never does, though. Too many variables, too many stumbling blocks. Her courage always falters before she can take that leap.

Perhaps they do not fit, like pieces from different puzzles. Temperance and temper. She would bore him, he would break her heart. There is no common ground for them to stand on, no matter how much she wants there to be.

 

* * *

 

Faster faster faster until he almost leaves himself behind.

Reality rushes past, a blurring, smearing trail of lights, abstract, impalpable. There are no rules here, no limits – he is beyond constraint, beyond complexity. Almost free. Almost.

The corvette trembles beneath him, engine howling, roaring, a primordial cry of life. Control, command, nothing must blindside him. Together they plummet towards the void.

_Forget_. But her name beats inside him like a second heart, wells in his blood, his breath. Bright and sharp, raw and restless. He almost aches with the rightness of it and part of him wonders what it would be like to yield to the feeling. He never does, though. It’s too much, too deep. And the need to escape is a raging storm within him.

He does not fit, too many rough edges, too many broken pieces. She is light and he is dark, they are opposites, polar, irreconcilable. He would dim her, ruin her, taint her brightness. It can never be real, no matter how much he wants it to be.

 

* * *

 

His voice beckons.

Like velvet, warm and mellifluous: a soft, spellbinding tapestry of rhythms. It lures her in, ever so gently, in spite of herself.

“Detective.”

The word is like a song when he utters it: a smooth lilt, intriguingly textured with the crisp plosives of his accent. Always it holds a note of challenge, of playful mischief – a way to draw her out while he himself stays hidden.

Sometimes, though, he stops playing, stops pretending. His voice changes with it, so raw then it’s almost painful to hear. Affection, honest and undiluted. Earnestness in every syllable.

“Chloe.”

His tone is tender, holding a depth of emotion that sets her heart racing. It resonates deep within her, stirs something she cannot name.

Invitation, a gentle question. She wants to answer but-

-always, there is a shift. Every moment of clarity followed by things tangling up worse than before. Communication warping into foreign language.

And though his voice cracks and bleeds, she doesn’t understand at all.

 

* * *

 

Her voice beckons.

Like a summer breeze, mellow and light: a cascade of clear notes floating on the air. It takes hold of him, gently but firmly, keeps him from drifting away in a sea of confusion.

“Lucifer.”

The word is like a chime when she says it: a warm, husky melody, both crisp and smooth. It flows through him, pulses in gentle harmony with his breath. Sometimes, a note of impatience, of – fond? – exasperation, but-

-she never pretends. There are no elusive overtones, no subtle dissonances – she is the only person he knows with no ulterior motives. The sincerity in her voice is so pure it’s almost painful.

“Not to me.” Her tone is serene, holding a depth of belief that soothes his bleeding heart. It reaches deep within him, calls out to something he has for so long kept hidden away.

Invitation, gentle command. He wants to listen but-

-always, there is a shift. Every moment of connection followed by something rupturing between them. Understanding shattering into complexity.

And though her voice breaks and pleads, he cannot explain at all.

 

* * *

 

He: black hair, suave sophistication, dark scorching fire.

The way he draws her in, a keen, arresting presence. Her life makes more sense with him in it. She’s better when they’re together, stronger, more alive.

The feel of him at her side – a rustle of expensive cloth, the warm, earthy scent of his cologne. Without him, everything is muted, bereft of soul and spirit. He’s _more_ , somehow. A fierce, luminous spark of life. And to her, the heat of him feels like home.

All his sharp edges, the twisting inferno of his temper, his profound unassuming gentleness: she thinks she loves him for it.

Though she knows that’s not enough.

 

* * *

 

She: golden hair, unwavering principle, clear, warming light.

The way she keeps him grounded, a bright, soothing presence. His life makes sense for the first time with her in it. He’s better when they’re together, calmer, more at peace.

The feel of her at his side – the purposeful sound of her footsteps, the fresh, delicate scent of her hair. Without her, everything is muddled, bereft of sense and direction. She’s _more_ , somehow. A pure, radiant spark of hope. And the light of her could guide him home.

All of her frustrating goodness, her close-minded stubbornness, her gentle, fearless heart: he thinks he loves her for it.

And he wishes, more than anything, that this could be enough.


End file.
